Warcraft
by Dontai
Summary: Set 800 years after the events of WoW but in a AU. In the future a inquisitor is sent to investigate signs of occult activities. Now he must set aside his petty grudges to save Azeroth from the awakening of unknown old god.
1. Chapter 1

A dark hair man with a thin face is walking next to a much taller, broader man with dark brown hair. "A representative of northern realm has just arrived, king Tywyn."

"What could they possibly want?" He pauses, mocking like he had an idea, then laughs. "Of course, they want the same thing, as always." He walks from the study hall passing guards along the way.

In the long hall of the king, next to the far right wall, past the pillars that lined either side of the center of the hall, two men were dressed in black robes. Both men were scrawny with shrivled weathered pale skin. One of the men has sharp features on his thin face. The other one has no noticeable cheekbones and has a more shallow face. Both were very old, easily in there sixties.

"About time," says the man with sharp features, "We've been waiting forever."

"Oh, I'm sorry for not taking time out of my busy schedule to babysit a bunch of northrends."

The two men were use to such verbal abuse, so they just ignored it. "We're giving you one last chance. Give us what we rightfully deserve."

"What, the northern half of Azeroth?" He burst out laughing. "You think we're going to give you that?"

"It's ours," the man to his left with sharp features says aggressively.

"No," Tyrewl says harshly "You lost that right when you turned against King Tyrewl, son of king Kryewl. Your war left Azeroth torn in half and devastated."

"You cursed are names and droves us into the sea," it was same guy on left. The man on the right remain silent while listening.

"It's not our fault you lost the bloody civil war that you started."

"Ok," the man on right says being forced to stand up and hold back the other man. "We just want Dywsyn wharf, Lyancaster and sherrwold farm. It would open up trade routes between us and Azeroth. You would gain a substantial amount of coin to line your pockets."

"You got to be crazy," cursing the very notion of giving it to them. It would cost them thousands of cold coin. Plus, "You have nothing to offer us but bitter heart and bitter cold." He adds to the conversation.

"Be reasonable, it's time for us to make peace between Azeroth and the northern realm."

The king hadn't been annoyed up to this point, but now he is becoming angry. He got into the face of the first man and locks eyes. "I would rather bend my knees to an Orc or anyone else. I wouldn't give my shit to you. You are not even worth shinning my shoes."

"Don't be foolish," the second man says, "Azeroth has all but depleted it stores of raw ores and we got more supplies than just material wealth."

"Be reasonable with Mr Olmgne and Kjrelheim. They have some good points. Why do we need to continue the fighting between us?" The door behind them had opened up and in steps a tall man with cropped blond hair spilling out from a wide brim large floppy hat. He walks up behind the King.

"The question, K'wyren, is what fighting? All they got is empty threats, empty lands, and empty bellies. I'll wait to the cold kill the last."

"Please...," K'wyren is about to say, but Tywyn raises a hand.

"They are a traitor house and they deserve a traitor's death."

"Tywyn, don't judge the son by the sins of the father."

"No," he screams "You can't prove to me that it's not in their blood."

The sharp faced Olmgne takes a step forward and bows, "We clearly not making any progress. I thank you for your time. I warn you that there will be consequences."

()

A massive orc is sitting in a equally massive throne, looming over a young orc, and presiding over his oppressive throne room. Kneeling in front of him is a orc nearly as impressive. The orc is having a problem kneeling on his thick stocky leg, settling for a sort of half sqat or stoop. The orc is young, so his skin isn't worn or leathery but pebbly and taught. The orc's eyes are bright and blazing with intelligence. The candles in the room have almost burn down to the wicks casting the room into darkness. Most of the old oak furniture is engraved with faces that sneer out at you in the dark.

"War Chief," the new orc says "Dyururk-Iron Hide has succeeded from the clan and has cut all ties with you."

"This is nothing new, if the stupid fool doesn't want the protection of the clans, then leave him to his fate. I just hope the stupid fool doesn't start a war." The last part was growl reverberating from deep in his throat.

"You know Dyururk's view on the situation. He hates the humans even before he took the mantle iron hide. The human's title 'Grin'gore' doesn't help matters. Many orcs believe in his cause and will rally behind his banner."

The War Chief lets out a loud bellow from the throne and smacks a near by table sending goblets of wine flying. "You think me old and feeble? I know this. The peace with the humans is fragile at best and we feel a sharp blade at our throat. Stray but a little and lead us all into ruin. If you so much stumble blood will be spilt."

"Then you know, you must do something about it. The orcs have been behind the humans since the return, we aren't in a position to win."

"Listen, Dor'ack," he says restraining his voice to a dull rumble. "I know the clan is lost it's spirits. It has been trying to forge a peace for centuries and put the blood and slavery behind us. But you have to agree that it's part of us."

"So Duruk'kahn, it falls to you to forge us a new path. Are we doomed to be instruments of endless pain and suffering? Stop 'em Iron Hides, before he brings the humans crashing our walls downs around are head." Duruk had planned on continuing the argument, but Dor'ack had turn to leave, passing through the large iron throne room doors and leaving them wide open.

()

You see the two guards standing in front of the massive wood-steel outer gate entrance to the Lordaeron. They were what you expected from normal grunts, a blue coat with gold trim, white buttoned up shirt, and white breeches. The soldiers had a leather belt that held a sheathed sword, mostly ceremonial in nature, and a holster for a flintlock pistol. Slung over their back is a medium caliber musket.

With the two guards are three other figures. Two are hidden behind hooded cloaks. The third one hood is down, a old man with a large head, prominent chin and cheek bones, shaved silver hair. The guard to the man's left has a scrunchy face and a deep chin. The scrunchy faced man quickly glances at his two hooded companions and then opens the gate for him. As he pass the guard, the man eyes his gun on his back, saying, "You inquisitors get the best toys."

"Not an inquisitor's toy." The guard stares at him blankly.

"Where did you get it?"

He shook his head and says quickly, "You wouldn't believe me." The old man steps through the gate.

The old man is usually very observant, so it's odd that he didn't notice the spiky red haired woman ahead of him. The woman is walking towards him, stopping to say, "Moss, I thought that was you." Her huge curving smile and brightening eyes shows that he is familiar and that she wasn't angry with him. Overall, she is cheerful.

The man eyes go wide and twinkle with familiarity. There is the sound of pouting from one of the robed figures. Moss smiles again but more subtle.

()

Laxia is extremely excited to be out of the wilds. Most people had forgotten about her, so they didn't notice the large bat-like wings, long black tail ending in diamond head, and two curving horns jutting from her forehead; all covered by her robes. The only thing they notice is her curvy figure. The first thing she notice is the rushing warmth from life. It came in great waves crashing over her body. She is normally fridge and cold, but after having sex, her core temperature would rise fifty degree or more.

She had been eyeing the old man, feeling unusually attached. She had master, but no warlock had commanded her. The legion held her leash, but they were ugly and unappealing. So this gnawing feeling is alien to her. She hungers for him in a way no mortal could feel. It wasn't one easily satisfied. She yearn to be his, for him to command her.

She stops puzzled by her own behavior, barely knowing her dark eyed, white hair companion. Maybe living alone made her jealous, or listening to her own thoughts for so long drove her insane. She fears growing a unnatural attachment. It was somethings she couldn't allow, at least not at this point. The source of her jealousy is named Harding. A name he says with all the happiness of old chums. She had been sent to find him when he didn't report in. But the reason became apparent.

"We tried to find you, but the Hinterland are unrecognizable." Moss gave an acknowledging nod being already intimately familiar.

"I wish we had more time to catch up but we face a timeless foe from the endless cosmic sea. The tidal pools of black have spawned a horror from the nightmares of demons. I must seek Velma in Kalimdor. She is not a expert on the old ones, but she is one of the wisest and most knowledgeable expert on the arcane and occult."

"That is a far journey even by fastest and swiftest of ships. Yet more people flock to it siren song. What hope against such madness?" Harding replies with concerned.

The grim look on Moss's faces causes great pains for Laxia. The expression on Moss's face reflects how she felt. It dug into her heart like a parasite. The fear that this thing couldn't be defeated. How did this world suffer so much only to come to this.

Moss issues his orders to Harding, "I'm sorry. I wish I had the answers, but I don't. Our experts have no more answer than anyone else. Send words with all due hast to the experts on the old gods, make for Dalaran. Pray we still have time. Get the provision and secure me a ship first. Sorry for the daunting task and having so many demands of such a cherish friend."

She hand waves it away, "Think nothing of it."

He smiles and moves to give Harding a hug. For a brief instant Laxia can see a look of fondness between the two of them, like they might have been more than friends. It forces her to walk away.

"As soon as you finish, come see me in the Inn." He motions for his companion to follow. They follow behind him quietly like ghosts.

()


	2. Chapter 2

The Shimmermist Stone or Arianna's vale is a village in Ashenvale. The village is primarily known for it's trade with travelers heading north to the larger cities. The village is tucked away, surrounded by enormous trees. But the smoke coming from the city could be seen leaking out from the forest canopy. The city had apparently been sacked and burned to the ground. The attackers hadn't gone out of their way to keep their identities a secret either. Large foot prints were leading toward the village, clearly orc in nature. Along with the foot prints were tribal emblems left as calling cards. "There is one orc clan who's hatred for humans is well known and there motif litters this slaughter." King Gwyaer could feel the hatred from his men, a will of it's own to strike down the orcs at a moments notice. But drowning Kalmidor in blood wasn't a good option. Azeroth would be safe with weak ties and great distances from the rest of their kin. But someday the news of the war would travel the vastness of the ocean. If enough fire is sparked, all of the clans would rebel. This horrid sight would be painted on every human settlement.

()

Nalzal is Moss second companion, meeting during the disaster in the hinterlands. Coming back to Azeroth brought back a flood of memories from her time. But the undercity was nothing like the new Azeroth. When she was alive, she preferred the glamorous and lavish lifestyle. Walking around wearing silk robes that caressed her skin and sutured expensive leather shoes quiet as a mouse, hanging out with aristocrats that were popular at the time. This city exactly embodies that style.

Most of the buildings were made of cemented etched white stone, except for the ones made of marble in the center of the city, with sloping roofs made of clay and strong oak timber. Many of the buildings had multiple stories stretching into the sky. Each and every doorway had an awning. The strangest part of the city's is the newly built sections of elevated road. There are no pedestrian on these roads, instead a long line of carriages and stagecoaches. She had never seen anything like it and looks on with wild eyes, amusement and wonder.

She heard a chuckle from Laxia passing by the highways. "I use to live in such royalty."

She pauses, halting her stride to look at the demon, "really."

"I was a queen, handmaidens and all."

"So tell me, what does a demon freed from bondage and cut off from her home dimension do?"

She turns to looks at her, face beaming with a wide smile,"The same as a forsaken, I would guess, rebuild. I have to start over, not just my life but who I am. This is a different world with different rules. A path alone is a bad path indeed. We fight are whole lives for the little moments."

The forsaken nodded, "Well said. From conquer and murder to saint and philosopher."

"It's a lonely world to be immortal." They continued on their way to the Inn.

()

The Inn is the same lavish style with white stone and stained glass windows. The door inside is crafted from thick oak. Inside were people wearing just as lavish robes and powdered wigs. They ignored the inquisitors because it was normal for them to look weird and act stranger, always coming and going. But they stared intensely at his companions. Undoubtedly wondering why they were hiding their identities.

Moss went to the front desk and motions for his companions to follow him; ignoring the glances from the crowd. "Two rooms," he asks the barkeep trying to seem as disinteresting as possible.

Inquisitors walked a strange line. On one side it's easier to do their job in secrecy. The other side, your making people aware of the threat. He contemplated telling them, but what good would it do? Mortal weapons have no effect on Talz'ak. It's a better idea to let the people carry on unaware of their fate. The thought of this turns his stomach.

Ignorance is a false bliss that hides the truth until it's too late. He knew it was too late for these people. Some people were meant to know, others were not. Those that new were damned. The knowledge of this squirms in his gut like a viper. Weighing on him like the weight of the world. Motioning for his two relics to follow him, he makes his way through the maze of patrons and upstairs to their room.

()

Gwyaer road without delay, forgoing the guards he normally brought with him, never stopping to rest. It was a better option to leave the guards and the adviser behind, normally it caused tension with the orcs.

After a days ride, he sees massive steeples rising into the horizon. The road leading to the city is marked with totems from the different clans and patrolled by many large orc guards wearing plated armor. Most of them don't speak to him, merely sneer as he approaches. A orc wearing a helmet decorated with feathers is waiting for him further up the road by the city gates. "Your expected." The massive double-doors behind the guard opens.

The city's town hall is a massive, circular, wooden keep with towers built into the outside of the structure. There is a set of double door on the south side leading into the keep. The first time inside had gotten him lost, but he eventually learns his way around. Heading straight, turns right, up the staircase, and rounds the corner. Inside, the orc chief is sitting on his throne waiting. All around are snarls of animals kept as guard dogs.

"Human king of Kalmidor, what brings you between the stone peeks of Dyrukaldor?"

"I think you know," he says dispensing with the pleasantry. "If your brothers in the iron lore continue to pressure your people into war, conflict is inevitable. You must act."

"I've tried to reason with the old fool, but he just wont see reason. He blames you for taking Orgrimmar. In his mind those lands belong to the orcs by birth right."

He approaches the orc and studies his face. The orc appears concerned, at least. "We took this world back together. Surely he realizes that? We were looking for a place to settle."

"King, that decision nearly lead to a war six-hundred years ago. You humans are to stubborn to realize your mistake. History is repeating itself."

"No," Gwyaer says sternly swathing a path in the air with his dominant hand. "Back then we were both refugees. Humans hold the advantage now. If we fight you will die and I will have to bury you."

The orc grunts in frustration, he is right. If the orcs go to war, the orcs will loose. They didn't have a chance.

()

Tywyn had been brought to the scene of a murder of a noble born woman. One that could have serious ramifications for the kingdom. Normally this job wouldn't concern him. Looking at the grisly scene, one seemingly more of war than murder, he knew something was up. The painful sinking feeling in his stomach confirms his suspicion. There seem to be a real threat from his citizens who were acting secretive with shifty eyes.

He guesses that this is stress is from Northrend. The citizen never didn't anything like this. Something in his surroundings and unrelated to the scene, caught his attention. The royal guards had formed a tight circle which isn't normal for their training. He stealthily put his hand on the hilt of his sword and waits to see what happens.

The great sword master and knight, Joffrey Wylsoon, trained him in combat. First rule he taught is patients, observe your enemy. Wait until they make the next move. The problem is more than one enemy. As the first sword swing came and went, another swing came. The king is surrounded on all sides.

The citizens who had gathered around the crime scene turned into spectators. But as the fight became less controlled and more vicious, the spectators flee from the battle. If they had stayed, a misplace swing could have ended their lives.

His royal guards were much better soldiers than this, better trained. He fell three men in the first three seconds, after ten seconds all of the men were dead. "Fuck," he says "I broke a sweat. I'm getting too old." He knew most of the faces of his men by heart. As he removes one of their helmets, he sees someone unrecognizable. There were only three in the kingdom who could give orders to his royal guard. None of them had a reason to kill him.

He had to get back and start planning on how to deal with the threat. The path to the imperial palace isn't a strait shot. There were three cobblestone imperial highways. Two ran around the outskirts of the capital. The third ran through the middle. He wasn't near any of them. This section of the city had four small roads leading out, most of them were blocked off. He had to cut through alleyways to reach his attended destination. These alleyways snake and weave throughout the city.

()

There was an argument between the two girls on who would spend the night with Moss. They fought and argued like children until it had came down to sword and shield, a varient of rock paper scissor. It ended up being the succubus who won, both gloating and doing a short dance. He originally didn't care who won. That changed.

Much of what he was is gone, all that remained is his duty to root out evil. But does the succubus qualify as evil? Someone who is stuck between worlds, is hardly a threat of ending both. So it makes sense to reevaluate her. She never attacked him or anyone else he was aware of. He killed the feral version of her kind before. They were similar to most feral demons, they don't talk. Seldom do they speak and only to their victims. So he put her on the list of oddities to watch.

He must admit, the succubus had a charm to her, even the way she fell into bed. She even tries to lay in a way he would find seductive, but he found it comical. It's hard to appear feminine, laying on her stomach with her legs swinging with enormous bat wings. She didn't appreciate his reaction. "I know what your doing, but try harder."

She glares at him, but than her expression softens. "What am I doing?"

"Your trying to be cute, showing off your curves. You think your so clever."

"I'm not doing that," She says with a sly smile. She flutters her eye brows.

The bat wings form a question in his mind, "I know your kind weren't always demons. So were the bat wings always a part of your species?"

"Yes," she says "we're originally a race of flyers, but we mostly use it for staying warm."

"You still have a problem staying warm?" She nods.

"We use to also be furry, we lost both."

Moss pulls out a worn crumbled journal with bent pages and starts jotting things down. He cradles it carefully, before putting it down and rubbing his hand over its worn crumbled surface. She stares at it intensely. What was its value, her mind demands? She had to ask, "the way you hold it. It must be valuable."

"Only sentimental," he says.

Her voice catches in her throat, "how so?"

"It's my journal from law school, I was suppose to right down case facts."

()

She wants his attention, but she didn't understand why. She liked having the company of mortals, well any company. She decides to press him by getting into his bed, facing him, making sure to reveal her curvy figure. It was the ancient game of cat and mouse, except that the cat doesn't think it wants the mouse. Her job is to bait the cat into desiring the mouse.

Except this time she didn't want to hurt the cat. She felt affectionate towards the human. Which is why it is infuriating being ignored. She sat right in front of him, sticking out her chest and considerable bust into his face. In a motion that surprises her, he pressess his lips to hers and she feels a thousands suns burning in her cheeks. All movement stops, her brain goes a brilliant white. She didn't say a word. She is now wrapped in a blanket, not moving and trying to comprehend his surprising swiftness. Pulling the blanket down from her head, she looks at him with large round animated eyes. Saying in quiet sudden words, "Your dirty. Go take a shower and will have play time later."

She sat up, "only if you'll come with me." He ignores her. "What if I come out here and forgot my towel?" She gives a sly smile to him.

"You don't have to flaunt what you got. Being humble is the better part of valor." He makes eye contact, "But I can't guaranty I wont look."

"But what if I want you to see it," she asks? She climbs out of bed, but is holding on to him. "Oh, I'm not just going to see it. But I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise."

She is heading off to the shower, when a blur of movement spun her around. Her body is pressed against the wall, her lips pressed against his. She envelops him in her wing.

"Your extremely strong, you could force me to stop."

Her voice carries over her hot ragged breaths broken up by pants, "Why would I want that? I want you inside me."

He whispers in her ear, "There will be time for that later." He leaves the words hanging in the air like little temptations.

(~~)

His eyes deceptively caught sight of her coming out of the bathroom, the towel rapped firmly around her curves and squeezing her considerable bust. He had to admire her beauty. She was a predator designed to lure men to their doom. A man had a hard time fighting a woman, beautiful or not. She had been distracting his mind and haunting his very foot step since the moment they met. He is just very good at hiding his feelings.

Her body was impossible to ignore and he felt the pull of it. The internal pain of attraction resisted through training and devotion to his job. He really wishes the towel slid off of her and down her milky thighs revealing her shapely amble bosom and pink slit. Somewhere in his mind, he is imagining rolling in the sheets with her. Another part of his mind is admiring just how much of a perfect hunter she was. The succubus wasn't evening trying hard and yet she is having an effect on his mind, both severe and perverse.


End file.
